Escape to Ireland
by annajanewrites
Summary: One-shot. Clay, Gemma, & Tig escape to Ireland. Takes place during Season 5, so spoiler alert if you have not yet seen everything. Kurt Sutter owns everything Sons of Anarchy. Please read and review! Thanks :)


**This is another one-shot Clay/Gemma fanfic I wrote. It takes place after Season 5, but with a few changes: Imagine an SOA world where Pope doesn't exist, Opie still dies in jail but for some other reason other than Pope, and Tig's daughter (given that Pope doesn't exist) is still alive. Jax still wants Clay dead over what happened with JT. This story begins with Clay escaping to Ireland to avoid Jax. Gemma and Tig come with him. Enjoy! (Everything SOA belongs to Kurt Sutter, evil genius that he is).**

"Might as well get drunk," Gemma said, her hands gripping the frosty glass of Guinness. She was already three shots of whiskey deep. They had been in the pub for less than an hour.

"You know I'm not gonna say no to that," Tig replied, nodding at Gemma with that sleepy smile of his as he clutched his own glass.

Clay just laughed, downed the rest of his beer.

Shapes of moonlight seeped in through the craggily walls and swam on the tabletops. Outside, Ireland's overwhelming greenery had a way of making their dusty little town seem an entire world away.

"We've gone rogue, Baby," Clay had whispered into Gemma's ear when the plane was landing. Her smile had been impossible to suppress. She always got a thrill out of being Bonnie to his Clyde, even after all this time.

Their plan was to regroup in Ireland for a while. Two months, maybe three. Tig made the flight at the very last minute. Gemma made sure to stop by the hospital daycare to kiss her grandsons goodbye before they jetted. She could barely stomach the thought of not seeing them everyday and was desperate to push that thought out of her mind.

"How you doin', Tiggy?" Gemma asked.

"I'm good, Beautiful," he said. He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, with that sleepy smile on his face.

Clay had no choice but to get away from Jax, who was surely out to kill him. Holding onto the truth over his father's death had been a great weight, but one that kept Clay alive. But now that the club knew the real story, Jax was absolutely bloodthirsty, blinded by his rage towards Clay and his need to prove himself as a ruthless president.

Tig held up his pint of Guinness. "Heyyy, _hey_! What should we drink to?"

"To the hopeful return of some sanity," Gemma replied sarcastically, not missing a beat.

"To Ireland!" shouted some drunk at the bar, overhearing their conversation.

"To the Republic!" shouted another.

"To twenty years of marriage to my love," Clay said, voice low and gravelly, gaze fixed on Gemma.

"Aw, hell," she said, mentally cursing herself as her eyes welled up with tears.

"I love you guys," Tig slurred, and they all drank.

Hours later, the trio stumbled down the cobblestoned road after too many pints of Guinness, Gemma clinging to Clay like some lovestruck teenager, Tig falling in line a few steps behind, keeping a protective eye as always. Moonbeams illuminated their faces as they navigated their way towards the safe house.

Later, when Clay was on the phone with Gaalen sorting out the details for the next day's meeting, Gemma and Tig sat together on the couch, his arm slung around her shoulders as they passed a joint between them. Tightening his embrace just a little bit, he pulled her face close to his and said softly, "I know this is hard, Gem, being away from Jax and the kids. But we both know this is where we're supposed to be right now." He took another puff, exhaled slowly, and nodded towards Clay. "Next to him."

Gemma smiled, took the joint from Tig for one last hit before she kissed him on the cheek goodnight. She knew that from the way she was acting around Clay, it seemed as though all was forgiven, but it wasn't that simple. She was so spun out over concern and dread for Jax that clinging to her husband felt like the only natural thing to do, especially if she could not be around her son.

"Glad you're here, brother," Clay told Tig a few minutes later. He was done with his phone call and done with the day, really, exhausted from the trip over and still in shock over everything that went down in Charming.

"I am too, man," Tig said. He was still sitting on the couch, lost in his thoughts. Jax was a fine club leader, and Tig loved him, but there was always something missing. He had never found a home in Jax like he had in Clay and Gemma.

Gemma was already in bed by the time Clay entered the room at the end of the night. He stared at his wife from the doorway, admiring her beauty that was still entirely present, even after all these years. Those lazy bedroom eyes got him every time.

"C'mon, Gem," Clay said as he walked in. He sensed her sadness. "Try to forget all the shit going on for a little while."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she snapped back.

Clay sat on the edge of the bed, positioning himself in the nook of her slanted hip. "Think of this as the honeymoon we never had."

Gemma looked down at her left hand. It was still bare. In their rush to get out of town, she didn't have the chance to grab her diamond. It was still locked up in the safe, as it has been for weeks. It was an impressive diamond, her ring. Back then, Clay had rationalized that the bigger the ring, the less it would bother Gemma that they couldn't have a big wedding.

She sighed. "Everything at home is shit. We're halfway across the damn globe. I miss my boys."

"I know, Baby."

"So I can't just pretend that everything is okay," Gemma said.

"Then why are you here?" Clay blurted out. He was growing weary from the arguing.

"What?" she questioned, genuinely confused.

"Why did you come here with me?"

"Oh, c'mon, Clay."

"No, Gemma," he insisted, "Really - I need to know why."

"Quit being such a bastard!"

"Gem—"

"You _know_ why I came," Gemma interrupted, though her voice came out less edgy, a small change imperceptible to anyone other than Clay. Fucking hell, he thought. Gemma still messed with his head like a goddamn opiate.

"What I know," Clay said, parroting Gemma's even tone, "is that I want you to tell me. I need to hear it."

Fuck it, Gemma thought. It was too tiresome to even attempt to keep this guard up with him. Clay was the one she could be free with since the very beginning. This bond that they had fused, it was more than their mutual connection to John's death. It was something deeper, more profound. They have been through it all, but Clay was too imbedded in her soul to fade out. And if Gemma was being honest, she would admit she had no desire to ever leave him for good.

She took his right hand and gently rubbed circles on the inside of his palm with her thumb.

"I'm here," Gemma said, "Because you're here."

Clay didn't need anything else. He leaned over Gemma and placed a loving kiss on her lips, moving aside the collar of her silk pajamas to then pepper kisses along her clavicle, her sweet spot. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him in closer, as close as she could, for all she wanted in that moment was to breathe not air, but her husband.


End file.
